Two AM
by happybeckett
Summary: On a cold night, Kate's scars begin to pull, so Castle attempts to remedy her pains. Early season five one-shot. Based on a strange prompt.


_Disclaimer: I doubt that any Castle writer would write an episode in this format, but if they ever do, I'd be totally into it._

_A/N: I spent two weeks at a science institute for a computer science concentrated semester this summer, and in order to fulfill a humanities requirement, I took the world's biggest joke of a creative writing class. When we were asked to write a scene in a certain prompt, I wrote this to that prompt. What is the prompt? Either you'll figure it out, or you'll understand at the end. You'll see._

* * *

"I love you."

"Yes?"

"Rick?"

Some form of intention takes the night with it as relief comes over her; yes, this was the right choice, despite any of her lingering doubts. Though she is bare to him, she can see how much he cares, for the look of his closed eyes as he brings his lips down and holds them against her surgery scar shows the passionate, deep love he has for her. And she has those feelings too, so in this intimate moment between them, she dares only interrupt to say what is now so pressing in her mind.

With an exhale of joy, of comfort, and of pure and utter love, she's thankful that she told him, for now his lips are along the left side of her body, and she feels exposed but lovingly intimate. He then lifts his head after giving the kiss to her side, a gingerly-given kiss that lingers only for a moment but doesn't overstep. Instead, he leans away from a kiss she has so greatly longed for, a kiss of pure adoration despite any circumstances. While planning his next act, he begins to run his hands along her side.

A rub to the left, a rub to the right. With warm, comforting motions, he massages her side, keeps his hands along her body while she lies there in bed with him, her chest uncovered entirely while his arms knowingly roam her body. He, without a shirt as well, holds her gently but familiarly, his hands cupping this personal area of hers, this battle wound she wears every day. His hands dance along the side of her ribcage in knowing motions at first and then slower, softer ones, ones that are unfamiliar and careful. Though he wants to touch her, he would prefer to know her boundaries first, as she would likely prefer as well; if she doesn't want him near a certain area, then he dares not invade her. There's something about having her say his first name that makes him feel suddenly more intimate with her, as though _Rick_ is his formal address while _Castle_ is the colloquial term.

"It's okay," she says hoarsely, sleepily. "I want you to, Rick."

Moments later, he is unknowing again, all promises but no action as his hands hover over a scape of her body that she always conceals, even when they make love. This is a new form of bare for her, for now she shows everything, from the Russian word tattooed below her left breast to both of her breasts as well as the plateau of her stomach and down to the bones in her hips. While her face looks tired and pained, she as a whole merely looks bare, but she now looks more comfortable, more secure with the way this night was moving, and he's suddenly glad that he removed his shirt.

"I won't cover myself up if you're going to be uncovered," he whispers as two am passes.

Taking the shirt beside him in bed, he brings himself into the garment, covering up his body as he does so. Evidently, she's nervous, for they've only been together for a few months, and somehow, this just seems so soon even though he's already seen her naked many -_ many_ - times. She is comfortable with her naked body while her left arm rests securely against her left side and while her right hand fingers the ring around the chain on her neck, but with both scars exposed, she feels as though she is missing a limb or as though she's lost some bit of innocence to herself.

He moves away from her. A sharp pain hits her side, as though a rubber band is being constricted beneath her skin. Reaching out to her bedside-table, she sits up and takes her folded-up tank top as she cringes from the motion. Next, he crawls beneath the comforter quickly - she's right about how cold the night is - and keeps his eyes open while she sits up in bed, he body hunched as her own hand strokes her side through the tank top she's just put on. If the pulling that has just started continues, she knows that she won't be able to sleep tonight. With even one word, his face falls for her, for she doesn't deserve this, not one bit of it, and even though she's - somewhat miraculously - reaching out to him, he still feels foreign to this part of her life. He never pushed her to talk about the shooting, but maybe he should've.

"Could you?" she asks him hollowly, looking down to where he lies across a pillow in his bed. "I mean, I've never tried it, but it hurts, Castle."

His offer almost takes him by surprise as well; this is the one part of her that he dared not touch, both literally and figuratively, for he knew that she would allow him to know this part of her more deeply when she was ready. After years and years of it, he knew that he was capable of waiting, so he waited. Though he speaks, he regrets it immediately afterward.

"Do you want me to try to warm them up?" he asks. "I know it probably won't help at all, but I..."

She sighs. "Most likely, no."

"But you won't sleep, nonetheless."

"I'm sorry, Castle," she says as she sits up a little higher, "but there's not much I can do about it, the pulling and all. The doctors said this would be typical of scar tissue. It only hurts in the cold now. I'll be fine in the morning."

"But you won't sleep."

"Pretty much."

"So you just have to wait it out? You can't take anything to make it stop?"

He's worried even though she keeps playing the situation off, but it's nearly two am, and she's been awake all night. Though he knows he shouldn't intrude, he can't help it when the woman he loves is cowering in bed next to him because of pulling pains in her scars.

"It happens sometimes. Don't worry. I'll be fine, Castle," she whispers, giving a sleepy smile because she's contented with how greatly he cares about her. "In the morning, it'll stop."

"Does this happen a lot?" he asks, almost frantic even though it's a few minutes before two in the morning. "Should we call your doctor?"

"Sometimes, the scars pull a bit when it gets colder out," she says. "It happens. I'm okay. Go back to sleep."

She sighs in frustration, annoyance, and a tang of sadness.

"It's not nothing, Kate," he says. "It's almost two in the morning. Why are you awake? Are you alright?"

"It's nothing, Rick," she whispers, her fingertips playing with a clump of his hair.

She runs her fingertips through his hair as he groggily lies there, his eyes filled with residual sleep while she has absolutely none in hers. As her side pulls once more, she grimaces.

"Kate, what's going on?" he asks, alert even though he just woke up.

Tensing forward, she feels another pull, feels the tissue pull up while her torso suddenly feels shorter. He's awake, which she didn't anticipate. As she looks down to meet his eyes, she finds them much too open.

"Hey," she says in response, a tiny but tired smile on her lips.

Snow continues to fall beyond their windows.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says with a groggy grin.

And then he is asleep, and she continues watching him, her eyes on the steady down-and-up of his chest. With soft breaths, he snoozes, and now, she's glancing out the window to see the dark city filled with snowflakes that skirt the lights of the buildings. Though she would prefer to sleep, she's glad that tonight is beautiful, for the beauty makes it easier to deal with the pulling all alone. She'll let him sleep; he deserves it, especially after all the writing he's been doing lately. While the snow falls, she tries to breathe as evenly as he does while he sleeps, but instead, her breaths are staggered, for her chest doesn't want to be as tall as it normally is.

Lying down, she pulls the comforter over herself, nuzzles against him in bed. These nights, these wonderful nights spent together, are the nights she treasures most, for being in bed with him is one of the many luxuries of this relationship. Though outside it is cold, he is warm, and his warmth almost calms her pulling for now, but she knows she needs to sit up in order to lessen the pain. The next pull takes her by surprise - the ones before it had been so small in comparison - and she moans out a breath as her muscles contract. Then, the pulls become duller and duller. She hardly notices them even though she's awake. Soon enough, she falls asleep, dreaming of nothing she can remember while she cuddles close to him. He smells of Christmas.

When she wakes next, the night is dark. He pulls away from a kiss he gives her on the forehead, to which she gives a smile.

"Goodnight, Castle."

"Goodnight, babe," he says, using that word she so loves to hear.

Getting out of bed, he stands up, walking backwards toward the window. She sits up in bed, exhausted from the day.

"We'll build a snowman tomorrow," she says. "Come to bed."

"Don't you want to watch it fall?" he asks, excitement filling him as he leans against the window and looks out on the dark New York skyline. "It's so beautiful. Why can't we go out and play in it now?"

"Yes, it _is_ beautiful," she says with exhausted sarcasm. "Now come to bed."

"Look at it!" he says joyously. "Isn't it just breathtaking?"

Quickly, he walks backward toward the bathroom.

"Beckett, it's _snowing!_" he says with excitement.

He slowly trots back to the bathroom, where she can hear him turn off the faucet and then turn it on, and now, he brushes his teeth while she lounges in bed. From today's case, she is exhausted, but a chill rolled in, so she knows how tonight will go.

Somehow, she isn't worried as much as she knows she should be, for Castle will be in her bed, not someone else, and if anyone knows how to treat her scars if they pull, he most definitely will. Her grin turns into a frown.

_My scars are going to hurt tonight._

The weather report called for snow. Subconsciously, she smiles.

* * *

_A/N: In case you missed it, yes, this little scene has been written backwards, as though it were a video being played on rewind. To write a scene backwards was the prompt. The dialog will make more sense if you read it bottom-to-top at each speaking segment. Either way, I hope this was more fun than it was unsettling. Roughly (very roughly) based on a passage from Slaughterhouse Five. Actually, the passage from Slaughterhouse Five shows that playing humanity's history in reverse brings goodness back to the world, showing that humanity could be the reason for evil in the world, but in this, to me, seems as though the scene becomes more solemn once you reverse it. Review if you enjoy or if you hate it. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
